table’s surface, on the seat of the chair and on the floor. Eyeliner pencils, tubes of lipstick and other beauty paraphernalia had been thrown down carelessly. She didn’t remember much, just a vague notion of applying make- up, washing it off, and reapplying it differently. She had a mental picture of her face in the mirror, eyes blackened by mascara, lipstick smears across her mouth.
She sat up slowly, not wanting to encourage the headache. An empty wine bottle rolled off the bed and onto the floor, hitting the carpet with a soft thud. She’d taken alcohol to bed again. That was never a good idea, and she knew that it was happening too often for comfort. Her father had died from drink — his heart had failed under the pressure of too many years of chronic alcohol abuse. She didn’t want to go the same way, leaving behind a blotchy, wine-sodden corpse for her daughter to bury in a cheap coffin.
Lana glanced over to the open bedroom door. She usually closed it at night — a leftover fear from her childhood, when she couldn’t sleep with an open door — but now it was wide to the wall. Daylight slanted through the gaps between vertical blinds, forming lines across the carpet which stretched to the doorway. Lana watched the bright tramlines, light-headed and slightly nauseous.
She reached out and turned off the radio.
There was a noise from somewhere inside the flat. It sounded like something heavy falling to the floor, or perhaps a door slamming. Was Hailey up and about, getting ready for school? Lana slid out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She caught sight of her reflection in the wall-mounted mirror and was relieved to see that last night’s horror-show make-up had been cleaned away. Her cheeks were bare, shiny. They looked sunken. Her eyes were too wide, and as flat as old-fashioned copper pennies. She tried to swallow but it hurt her throat. Her skin was clammy.
She left the room and walked along the short hallway, towards Hailey’s room. “You up yet, honey?”
There was no reply.
“Hailey? Come on, let’s get up and get you ready for school. No messing about, now.” She stood outside Hailey’s room, one hand on the door handle. She squeezed the handle but didn’t turn it. Something held her back, an echo of fear. She didn’t understand why she felt so afraid, but terror filled her like water, drowning her from the inside. Lana felt like she was about to choke on it, to stop breathing.
She turned the door handle and pushed open the door. Breathing steady now, she entered the room. Some identikit boy band stared down from a poster on the wall. Hailey’s books were all lined up neatly on their shelves. Stuffed toys glared at her from the floor. Her television was on, the picture stuck on a DVD menu: images of dancing animals dressed in human clothes.
The bed had been made, the quilt smoothed down on the mattress and the corners — weren’t they called ‘hospital corners’? — tucked down tight. “Hailey, where are you?”
She listened to the silence, waiting for a tell-tale sound, but none came. Hailey, if she was still indoors, was keeping quiet. Lana glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 7:30. Hailey didn’t usually leave for school until well after 8 o’clock, so she must still be here. The girl didn’t have many friends she could go and meet up with before classes, and there was nowhere else she could have gone this early.
She turned and padded quickly back out into the hallway. The bathroom door, at the far end near the front of the flat, was closed. She moved towards it, wondering if Hailey was having a bath — the shower had worked only sporadically for almost two months, and no-one from the council had been out to fix it. This failure to fix things was a recurring pattern, both in the home and in Lana’s life in general.
She paused for a moment at the door, and then knocked. A sudden burst of daylight shone in her eyes, reaching her through the lounge window; it was hot and bright, making her wince. Then the light faded, and when she looked at the window the day outside was dull and hazy.
“Are you in there, Hailey? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
There was a long pause, and then Hailey finally answered: “Not feeling well, mum. Just a bit sick, that’s all.”
Lana tried the handle but the door was locked. “Come on, let me in. Do you need something? Is it your period?”
Again, Hailey said nothing. Lana knew that the girl was embarrassed to talk about these things, but it was an important part of life, and one that required discussion, particularly if Hailey was having problems.
“Listen to me. I used to suffer really badly with cramps. They were so bad that I used to vomit. Is that what’s up with you? Is it cramps?”
“Yes.” Then she heard the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by what might have been Hailey putting things back in the bathroom cabinet. Was that a bottle of pills she could hear rattling?
The lock clicked; the door opened. Hailey stood there in her white school blouse and pleated black skirt. The tail of her blouse was hanging out of her waistband, and she looked small and frail. Her eyes were huge, with dark circles beneath them. There was a splatter of vomit on her chin.
“Wipe your mouth,” said Lana, picking up a tissue and using it to wipe Hailey’s face, doing a mother’s job before Hailey even had the chance to pull away and look in the mirror. “It’s okay, honey. I can do this.” She smoothed down her daughter’s hair with her fingers, noticing how dry it felt. The skin of Hailey’s forehead was hard and flaky; her T-zone felt like fine emery paper.
“Thanks,” said Hailey, taking a step back, part-way into the bathroom. Her eyes were squinted, as if the light hurt them. She licked her lips and her tongue looked dark, almost purple.
“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well? Maybe you should stay off school today.”
Hailey shook her head. “We have a maths test. If I miss it I’ll have to sit it again some evening after school. I’d rather go in. I’m fine.” She pushed the hair out of her eyes with her thin, white fingers.
“I’ve never seen you look so pale… it’s like you’re anaemic. Maybe I should make an appointment with the doctor.” Lana wanted to hold the girl, but felt that it might scare her. When exactly had they moved so far apart?
“No. Really. I said I was fine. I am, really. I’m okay. Just a bit tired.”
Lana moved away from the door. “Aren’t you sleeping?”
Hailey shook her head. “Not too well. Not here, in this place.” She walked past Lana, being careful not to touch her.
Lana felt like crying. “I’m sorry. I never wanted it to be like this. I had plans for us, big plans.” She stood where she was, bathed in the glow from the bathroom light, feeling its fragile warmth on the side of her face. “I thought things might be better once we settled in.”
Hailey wasn’t listening. She crossed the lounge and went into the kitchen area, where she sat down at the breakfast bar, staring at an empty bowl. Her eyes looked odd, as if she were blind.
“Let me get you something.” Lana followed her daughter, opened a cupboard, and poured some cornflakes into Hailey’s bowl. Then she opened the fridge. “Fuck,” she said, feeling useless. “There’s no milk. I forgot to buy milk.” The omission felt like a metaphor, a symbol of how bad a mother she was. “How could I forget to buy the fucking milk?” She felt hysteria building, as if she were about to laugh or scream — she wasn’t sure which, and even when it came the sound would be difficult to identify.
Slowly, carefully, she closed the fridge door. Then she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Hailey, standing and pushing the stool across the cheaply tiled floor. “I’ll get something on the way to school.”
Lana was unable to open her eyes. She was entranced by the dancing darkness behind the lids. “Do you have money?”
Hailey laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Yes. I have money.” Then she went to the front door, opened it, and slammed it behind her as she left.
Lana straightened up and opened her eyes. She saw bright little points of light in her field of vision; dancing moonbeams, trapped in her kitchen in broad daylight. The bright spots faded, going out like distant flames blown by a wind, and then vanished altogether.
Acting on impulse, she returned to the bathroom, lifting the toilet lid and staring down into the bowl. Stringy vomit floated like pale kelp in the water, clinging to the side of the bowl where it had not quite been flushed away. There were tiny red flecks in the matter, as if Hailey had also brought up a small amount of blood. She could be mistaken, but it looked as if that was what had happened… unless she was suffering from the hangover and the weird morning light, and the redness was simply the result of tired eyes. She reached out and pressed the flush, watched the water as it swirled and cleaned away the stains.
